


bottle hog

by wxnna9



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alcohol, Depictions of Violence tag is because Roy describes what the Ishvalan War was like, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Ishbal | Ishval, Mustang's Team, Never Have I Ever, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, Underage Drinking, nothing is graphic tho, roy loses front seat privileges, thank you for that one jean havoc, the team knows they're together but they're a family above all else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wxnna9/pseuds/wxnna9
Summary: Especially in Ishval, being able to divert one's attention from the burial site under their feet was an invaluable skill.That need for a distraction, Mustang thought, must be the reason that everyone had agreed so readily to participate in a game that he hadn't thought about since his days in the academy.---Team Mustang plays Never Have I Ever on one of their first days rebuilding Ishval, featuring a Young RoyAi backstory that i threw in beforehand as a treat. :]
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang, Roy Mustang & Team Mustang
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	bottle hog

**Author's Note:**

> god listen it's 3:30AM right now and i just finished this and _did not_ bother to have it edited or beta'd or whatever because i'm stupid
> 
> [this](https://www.wikihow.com/Play-%22Never-Have-I-Ever%22) is how to play Never Have I Ever in case you didn't have any idea before now
> 
> also young royai are the same age in my canon because i said so.

Roy wasn’t a _bad kid_ by any means, and breaking the rules wasn't necessarily a habit of his. He was devoted to his studies and respectful toward his master; generally speaking, he had a good head on his shoulders and almost always meant well. When it was convenient, however, a little bit of a rebellious wind would make its way under his coat and he’d ride wherever it took him. 

_Especially_ if it would get a rise out of his beloved Riza.

In this case, the object of his mischievous affections happened to be Berthold Hawkeye’s infrequently visited liquor cabinet, an ornate shell stocked to the brim with glasses and bottles and liquids whose names he couldn’t seem to even pronounce. The owner of this particular cabinet was locked in his study upstairs, probably scribbling coded nonsense onto parchment paper with the help of the bright moon’s light. 

With the help of a sweeping gesture via his left hand, he could see that small film of dust was accumulating around the back of the shelves. The reflection of the orange glow from the candle was turning some of the emerald coloring of the glass into more of an olive shade. Roy had to catch himself from brushing off one of the labels - he dared not leave any evidence of this particular adventure. He found himself, certainly not for the first, nor last time in his life as he would later recall with that nostalgic expression that made Havoc give him a good punch on the shoulder, flying by the seat of his pants when it came to picking the best vial.

For a boy that grew up in a bar, he was relatively inexperienced when it came to alcohol. He wasn’t allowed downstairs during peak hours as a little boy because whiny kids were ‘bad for business’ - that, and he was thoroughly underage; with all of the illegal information gathering that took place under the leaky roof of his childhood home, the last thing Chris Mustang wanted to deal with was a revoked liquor license. Especially when that particular line of work relied on lowering a target’s inhibitions. 

With steady hands, he tipped back an average-sized bottle of white wine located toward the back of the top shelf by holding the cork. He could barely make out any sort of date or inscription that would indicate its significance, nor could he see any fingerprints around the container itself that would suggest any sort of visitor to this particular portion of the cabinet. He plucked it carefully from the armoire, tucked it under his arm, and donned a relaxed disposition. Should he find himself vis à vis with his master, the older man would be none the wiser.

After making his way up the creaking stairs and what felt like a much longer hallway than usual, Roy let out the breath he had been holding since the wine had been selected and shook his hands out in order to slow the reeling of his brain and the adrenaline in his body. The alcohol was promptly wrapped in an old sweater and shoved delicately beneath his bed for a rainy day. 

* * *

Three nights later, Roy decided that despite the only noise coming from outside his window being the cheerful chirp of cicadas and crickets and _not_ the unmistakable tapping of water on the glass, it was probably raining in Xing or Drachma. Quite the worldly man, who could blame him for celebrating the rainy weather of their allies? He promptly removed the sweater bundle from its hiding place and stared blankly at the corked neck.

_Right. He had to open it somehow._

Scissors? No, that wouldn’t do, best case scenario he completely mangles the cork and is unable to close the bottle or hide the evidence. Alchemy might work, but he was a little nervous about transmuting the woody cork, seeing as bio-alchemy wasn’t really in his wheelhouse. It was in his best interest not to risk it. 

_I bet Riza would know what to do._

A small smile tugged at his lips. He bet that she wouldn’t be all that surprised at his antics, and he trusted her enough not to tell her father. Although she would probably be unwilling to help him get away with it, there was no harm in trying.

He rewrapped the glass bottle and tucked it under his arm again, reminiscent of three nights prior when he had snuck the thing into his room in the first place. He crept on the outside edges of the hallway and held his breath, trying to keep the noise level to a minimum. Berthold Hawkeye’s study door was solid before him, the man was likely continuing his scribbling work without desire for interruption. Roy kept moving.

He found himself taking a deep breath at the entryway of Riza’s bedroom. He rapped his knuckles twice, and waited. It was unlikely that she was asleep despite the late hour, Roy knew. She always read a couple of book chapters before bed, and often got caught up in the tales. Seeing as it was a Friday night and she had nowhere to be the day following, there was no doubt in his mind that he would momentarily be face to face with large, curious brown eyes. 

Sure enough, after the sound of hinges creaking, an arm reached out and tugged him through the threshold and into a room no bigger than his own. A twin-sized bed was pushed against the back wall, a novel perched upon its pillow from where the owner had set it just moments ago. The curtains to his right caught his attention, billowing gently in the breeze of this dry summer night. Riza clicked the lock shut behind them and took her place leaning along the back wall to face him. She had her arms crossed in an uncomfortable pose across her chest, and looked to him expectantly.

“If you’ve come for some more ‘experimentation’, I regret to inform you that my good pair of undergarments are in the wash, Mr. Mustang.”

“How forward Ms. Hawkeye, though I must say the same about my own current state of dress. Alas, those tighty-whities that you hold so dearly are not currently on my person.”

She cracked a bit of a smile. “What brings you here then, Roy?”

“Well you see,” he began, his voice taking on an exaggerated, performance-like tone, “I seem to have found myself a particularly exciting gift, but I don’t have the tools to open it. I was wondering if you could help me out.”

He gently unraveled the bottle from its cloth wrappings and set it on the desk to his right. Riza’s eyes widened in surprise and her lips pursed ever-so slightly. She seemed to consider their situation for a moment, and how much trouble they could find themselves in if they were caught. She sighed, opened one of the drawers on her night stand, pulled out a bobby pin, and jimmied the cork out of its place in the bottleneck after a few moments of struggle. She then promptly took a sharp swig from its contents, making a face as it coated her tongue and throat with a warm sensation.

_Well,_ thought Roy, _that isn’t quite what I expected her to do…_

She threw him a pointed look as she returned the bottle to his hands. “You don’t seriously think I would help you out without some sort of tax, did you?” Before he could take his first taste, she seemed to think better of her decision to pass him the container, and instead grabbed the bottle back and swallowed another mouthful of the warm wine straight from the source.

“Have mercy, Ms. Hawkeye,” seemed to be all he could choke out in surprise. 

The liquid pooled in her gut and tugged at her eyelids. She slid down the wall behind her and promptly sat on the floor. Her legs were outstretched and she flexed her ankles. She had spent the day in the city, walking about the market for groceries and running other errands. It had left her legs sore, but the alcohol was already loosening her joints and offering a distraction from the dull aching in her heels. 

Roy crossed the room to meet her, sliding along the wall in the same fashion to her left. He plucked the bottle from her hands and helped himself to a hearty serving. The container made a more hollow _sloshing_ sound than before, but its contents were far from empty. If they were wise, it could probably last them more than one visit, give them more than one excuse to relax in each others company without worrying about anything that took place outside of her small bedroom and into the study down the hall, but as avid planners they may be, they didn’t feel the desire to restrain themselves in the company of their trust. They both found themself surprisingly content with the notion that ‘whatever happens, happens’. 

Roy took another swig and wiped the rolling tan droplets from the corner of his lips where they had escaped. He caught Riza’s eye and grinned. The way she liked; goofy and charming in the way that lights up his eyes. 

“I guess this means we’re together, no?” He asked, nonchalantly.

The disconnect between her body and brain was kicking in finally. She furrowed her brow. “What’s this all about?” She asked, feeling an unfamiliar flush on her neck.

“You see,” he offered, gesturing between the two of them with the bottle, “We’ve been sharing indirect kisses.”

She couldn’t stop herself from coughing up a small bit of laughter. _“What a childish notion!”_ She thought, all attempts to cover up her amusement coming up short. He only beamed brighter at her reaction.

“Mr. Mustang,” she began, turning her back away from the wall in order to face him, “If you wanted a kiss, you should have just asked. There’s no need to rely on ungentlemanly tricks”

“Miss Hawkeye, you wound me! I don’t suppose you take me for a womanizer, do you?”

“Although you play that part well Mr. Mustang, I’m afraid you will never fool me.”

He leaned further forward and touched his forehead to hers. He brought her hand to his lips and mumbled against her knuckles.

“To fool you, my dear Riza,” he placed a brief kiss, “Was never a part of the plan.” 

She turned her hand so her palm faced the ceiling, the back moving slowly from his own. She slid two or three graceful fingers beneath his chin, admiring how smooth it felt - although Roy would likely complain if she mentioned this aloud, he was always annoyed by a lack of ‘manly facial hair’ - and tapped her pointer finger twice to tilt his head up. 

She watched. He waited. He would never dare make the first move, he wanted her express permission to move forward. Their noses were just barely touching. Under normal circumstances, she would have been content to make him wait all day, to watch him squirm and lose his resolve under her gaze. After sharing about half a bottle of wine however, she did not hesitate to close the gap between them. Gentle fingers brushed the hair from her face and came to rest upon her cheek. She tasted like the sour wine they had just shared. 

There was little urgency about their situation. The kiss continued, but it was slow and loving. It bore little relation to other times their lips had met, not in heated and open mouthed pants when they were in the middle of what they affectionately referred to as “experimentation”, nor the chaste salutations that occured when Berthold was likely to find them at any moment, like when Riza was by the door, heading to the market for the day, and Roy was feeling particularly cheeky and daring. 

They pulled apart and shared a look of breathless contentment. The bottle was passed between them once more, and both parties found it difficult to focus on anything in particular. Any footsteps from Berthold Hawkeye finally heading up to bed were acknowledged only with hands over mouths, stifling giggles and pointless babble from one Roy Mustang, and the cessation of the cricket calls and the birds kicking off the dawning of a new day were ignored in lieu of innocent, mindless chatter and the further exchange of bright kisses. 

Roy did not remember falling asleep. The feeling of satisfaction that swelled throughout his whole body at the realization that his head resting atop a mess of blonde hair and in turn the feeling of that hair draping over his shoulder was enough to overcome the ache of his neck and legs at resting in such a position for so long. Small breaths tickled his neck and he turned easily to press his nose into her cranium. The readjustment revealed the raw and creased skin of his cheek, marked with the thin lines of her hair from pressing his weight there so firmly all night, and he came to an awareness of the sun, which was casting lines along his bare feet and warming the fabric of his black slacks that he had neglected to change out of before making the trip across the hall all those hours ago. 

Riza stirred briefly and rolled her head back a little bit to further tuck herself under his chin, and Roy came to the conclusion that this was exactly where he wanted to be for the rest of his life. Even years later come to find that memory to resurface. It was one he wouldn’t dare speak of aloud.

Although it didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, the memory of that moment has followed him wherever he went. That little piece of home, where she tucked her head further into his shoulder and he soaked up her warmth in the cold house. He voiced the memory aloud only once, to Maes, while they laid side-by side on rough mats and stuffed their flat pillows with clean laundry to prevent cricks in their neck. It was their first month in the military and the horrors of war settled in their bones like lead. Maes was chatting absently about a young woman he had met back home in order to fill the gaps of silence.

_“I don’t expect you to understand,” he sighed in response to Roy rolling his eyes again. “You’ve never been in love.” Maes rolled over and faced away from his tentmate._

_“Once.”_

_“Hm?”_

_“Once. I’ve...I’ve been in love once.”_

_Maes faced Roy again, his eyebrows arched in surprise._

_“Tell me about her,” he replied. “I think it’s only fair.”_

But that was before the war had really started. Before he caught sight of Riza - no, she had shed that title, along with her childhood innocence once they trained her to sacrifice everything for the support of a nation that had failed them - before he caught sight of the now-named military woman Hawkeye, dragging her feet through dunes of dry dirt. A girl that should help him shoulder grocery bags after a joint trip to the market instead of the guilt that accompanies the shouldering of a sniper rifle. 

He hadn’t been able to take his mind off of her this entire time. Despite the distance, despite him and her father’s less than amicable parting, she had always remained there, in the back of his mind. His longest friendship that turned into just a little something more. Before he saw her face, her hawk's eyes scrunched under the harsh light of the Ishvalan sun, she was something to look forward to when he could finally return home, and a distraction from his nightmares.

And in this place, there was nothing more valuable than much-needed distraction.

The entirety of Team Mustang was jittery. Even after the conclusion of the promised day and the following weeks to recover, there was something about this place that brought up unfavorable images.

Upon the very sands that were once so thirsty, they swallowed the blood of innocent men, women, and children; under the very sun that beat down upon red hands, peeked through the sight of a sniper rifle, and invited the foul stench of truth and rotting corpses to the surface; under the very moon that once cast shadows under the killing eyes of soldiers, lying to themselves in order to sleep for an hour, maybe two, and promising others that the paleolithic ideology of "survival of the fittest" was simply the way of the world; being able to divert one's attention from the burial site under their feet was an invaluable skill.

That need for a distraction, Mustang thought, must be the reason that everyone had agreed so readily to participate in a game that he hadn't thought about since his days in the academy.

"Roy-boy," Havoc crooned, "Are you in?"

A childish game with a group of people he's known for years actually sounded...rather appealing. He could gripe for hours about the group of people in front of him - minus a certain beautiful blonde of course - but he could confidently say that he wouldn't rather be with anyone else. Not that he would ever tell them that though.

"You know what?" Mustang called back, "Fuck it. Hand me a glass."

Around the fire there was a small chorus of cheers. He stepped carefully, avoiding the shoes of Falman (his legs were stretched out closer to the fire) and offering a small wink to a relatively nervous Fuery before taking the empty seat next to his adjutant. They both knew all too well that tonight, after the lights were out and they were left to their own beds, the terrors of the night would come. The look in her eyes told him that she was grateful for the opportunity to ignore their unfortunate position for a little while.

"So," Breda began, as the gentle firelight cast flickering shadows across his face, "I guess I'll start. Never have I ever..." He took a moment to think. A small smile crept on to his lips. "Never have I ever had a crush on a teacher."

Havoc scowled and took a hearty sip from his mug, claiming that his question was targeted, and Hawkeye suppressed a chuckle at the disgusted look gracing Mustang's features at the thought of being infatuated with his alchemy teacher. Fuery didn't move his glass closer to his lips, and Falman sighed into his water cup. He wasn't much of a drinker anyway, and alcohol made him snore. Although stealth wasn’t necessarily their mission here, he could understand that his clogged pipes were more of a hindrance than helpful when it came to sharing a tent with your comrades.

Fuery blinked once or twice behind his large spectacles. "My turn, is it? Alright, never have I ever broken a bone."

"Come on, Fuery!" Breda said, annoyed, as everyone in the circle swallowed a mouth full of liquor. Even Falman, in good spirit, joined in. Mustang noted that it didn't taste very good, but he could tell by the burning sensation that chased the liquid down his throat that it wouldn't take long before he was tipsy.

About forty five minutes and a trip or two around the circle, he was feeling light headed and warmer than normal. He noted that Fuery had taken a sip following a question about dating someone taller than them, Havoc was an open book as usual, and Hawkeye was not nursing a full cup like the others had originally assumed.

"Let's spice things up a bit, shall we?" Havoc said, his voice the slightest bit louder than normal. "Never have I ever been caught in a...compromising position."

Mustang was determined not to look at the woman next to him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a small flush dust her pale skin, and he knew that they were thinking the same thing.

During the days of his apprenticeship, when they were still teenagers, Roy had a habit of sneaking into Riza's bedroom - with her encouragement of course - after lights out. Behind closed doors in a fit of hormones, they were partial to 'practice and experimentation' sessions. These started out pretty innocently, sharing small, innocent kisses and gently resting hands on hips and shoulders. Naturally, things escalated, and he found himself crossing the creaky hallway to his own room reeking of sweat, and sex, and _her_ no less than twice a week. There was one occasion however, that the beloved Berthold Hawkeye had pushed the door open to see his daughter red in the face and a blanket pulled up to her chin when he came to investigate a loud shout from her bedroom. If he noticed the way her blankets lumped around her waist where Roy's face was tucked in to her hips, he didn't address it.

Still not making eye contact, they took a sip from their cups. It was not missed by the group in front of them.

"No way!" Havoc shouted, and Mustang tensed.

He should have lied. Even though activities such as that were not illegal, as they were before either of their time in the military, he didn't want it to put anyone on the trail of more...recent activities after a few too many drinks over a pile of forgotten paperwork. 

Nobody paid any mind to the container slowly losing weight in his right hand. His reputation precedes him, he assumed.

"Little Miss Straight-Laced really does have a wild side! Tell me Hawkeye, who was he?"

She held her breath and exhaled loudly, throwing a lazy glare across the circle and muttering, "Just an old flame."

Roy felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

* * *

“Never have I ever, um, broken the law!”

By the look on Fuery’s face, he hadn’t expected every other member of their group to tip back their heads and swallow.  
  
“No way,” He croaked, “Not you too, Hawkeye!?”

“You clearly weren’t there when she acted as getaway driver,” Mustang mumbled, “She ran more red lights than I have extremities to count on.”  
  
She turned to him calmly. “Black Hayate doesn’t seem to have an issue with my driving, perhaps he should sit shotgun from now on.”  
  
He tried his best to look offended. “Come on now, you don’t mean that.”  
  
“At least _he’s_ potty trained,” She responded.

* * *

After a little while longer, the questions began to cease in frequency. The group tended to spend more time giving an explanation to their responses one-by-one and discussing unrelated topics than actually spitting rapid-fire responses. They no longer went in a circle, and opted to have whoever happened to be coherent enough to string a sentence together present the challenges.

“Never have I ever...participated in underage drinking!” Fuery announced, smiling as Havoc, Roy, and Riza both took a shameful sip. 

Roy turned to the blonde next to him. “So you do remember,” he stated.

Riza laughed, openly and carefree, while Havoc, Breda, and Falman all exchanged glances.

“If I recall sir,” she replied, “You were a complete bottle hog.”

He barked a laugh. “I beg your pardon, _Miss Hawkeye?_ As _I_ seem to recall, the moment the cork was pulled from the neck you helped yourself.” He turned to their audience. “She didn’t even wait for a glass!”

Everyone else in the circle came to the simultaneous agreement that what was said here on this day was never to be spread to any of their superior officers back home. This playful interaction was not to be read with flirtatious context, and was simply the colonel and the woman that promised to follow him into hell reminiscing about the good old days. Even if something were to slip about more _romantic_ interactions during one of these old stories, it was before either of them were in the military. Fraternization laws wouldn’t apply.

Should something slip about a more intimate aspect of their companionship in the modern day? Well, it seemed they all agreed that keeping one more secret for the two people who have been through hell and come back swinging. Quite literally, in Hawkeye’s case, they had all heard about her miraculous survival of The Promised Day in the hospital the day following; which she recounted in a deadpan voice as if this were an everyday occurrence (but then again, they supposed, she _was_ the adjutant of the Brigadier General, the very same man that offered a teenage boy a position in the military).

After a moment’s hesitation, Riza Hawkeye, a woman with the killer’s eyes, rational, stoic, calculating _Riza Hawkeye_ stifled what could only be described as a _giggle_. 

Their much needed distraction had come to pass, and exhaustion crept in from the soldiers unknowingly staying on near-high alert for hours. Fuery offered whatever was left in his cup to the surrounding officers, which Havoc accepted gratefully (to no one’s surprise) before turning in for the night. Breda drained his drink and sighed loudly, announcing that making the same decision was probably for the best. He stood and stretched with a groan before wandering to his post and flipping up the tent flap carelessly and ducking out of sight. 

“It’ll be one last cigarette for me, and then I’m hitting the hay,” Havoc yawned, pulling out a stick from his pocket and thrusting it into the fire pit for a quick light.

“Seeing as I’m the only Sober Charlie here, I’d be more than happy to take the first watch tonight,” Fallman offered. With a cigarette in his mouth, the man next to him merely shrugged and took a final inhale before snuffing it out with a toss to the ground and a stomp of his foot.

“Night everyone,” he called over his shoulder as he wandered toward an empty tent.

Fallman looked to Riza and Roy, who were chatting quietly amongst themselves.

“You know,” he said, breaking their comfortable silence, “My offer still stands. It would be silly for either of you to miss the opportunity to get some rest.”

When he turns to them, he sees the way they both wince. In that moment he was almost certain that all of the alcohol had been sucked out of their systems in one fell swoop by the way their suddenly sobered expressions had changed; The bags under their eyes betray their assuage of his concern, and he realizes that they aren’t going to bed any time soon, especially not in this place. He can’t imagine the things they must have seen and done or the regrets that they carry, weighing heavier than a sisyphean boulder. Two kids that happened to join the military at just the wrong time have grown into young adults that must see red every time they close their eyes.

“I appreciate your concern, Falman, but as the two highest ranking officers in our platoon I firmly believe that it is our job to ensure our subordinates are in top condition. I’m sure the Brigadier General agrees.

“I will likely be up most of the night, so please don’t concern yourself with nightly duties. It would be best for you to wake up refreshed tomorrow morning, understood?”  
  
He was surprised by the even and professional quality to her voice despite the number of penalties she had taken during their little game earlier. 

“Alright then,” he relented, offering a silent nod to the man beside her. “I will see you all later.”  
  
He directed his attention to the Brigadier General. “Please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything per usual, sir. Whether it be because you find yourself drifting to sleep, or you just need the company.”  
  
He turned on his heel, but not before he saw Hawkeye take his hand and run her thumb across one or two of his knuckles in a comforting motion.

* * *

With his head on her shoulder, Roy was thinking about a lot; the early mornings spent in those sweltering uniforms out in the sun, skipping lunch under the close watch of Berthold Hawkeye in the dimly-lit and cramped study, hiding behind buildings and staking out their next move on the shadowy afternoon of The Promised Day, the nights he spent with Maes, talking about nothing and everything all at once.

And above all else, Riza Hawkeye by his side through it all. Into hell indeed.

Her lips pressed gently upon the crown of his head and his thoughts ran on empty. Her skin was warm and her scent was familiar and comforting. 

Through it all, she was his rock, his weakness, his distraction from the bad times.

And in this place, there was _nothing_ more valuable than much-needed distraction.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it, this is the longest thing i have ever written (which is frankly embarrassing) and took me several months to complete in short bursts at 2AM during quarantine. we've all been there i'm sure.
> 
> also sorry if things are a little weird, i wrote like, the middle first then the beginning and then the ending so i really couldn't tell you if it fits together well. maybe the first part should have been a oneshot instead or whatever; who knows.
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr! my main acct is @wxnna9 and my fandom acct is @taffidaunicorne , hope to see you around maybe?


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